Skyrimstuck: What Chicken?
by OveractiveTriggerFinger
Summary: This is a crossover between Skyrim and Homestuck, where Karkat Vantas is destined to defeat Alduin, and meet some interesting people along the way. Rated T for language.
1. In Which We Follow a Bad Tempered Nord

Chapter 1: Bad Luck and Bad Language

You awaken, shaking your head to clear the fogginess. The side of your head throbs in protest. Who are you? _Where _are you? Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are a Stormcloak rebel in Skyrim's civil war. Captured by imperial soldiers, and put on a wagon currently headed towards Helgen, and your execution. Of course, all of this is simply your terrible luck yet again dealing you the wrong cards. Seriously, when did you manage to piss off Talos? There's only one thing to do in this situation: curse profusely.

"Fucking… cock-sucking, ass-munching, skeever-fucking Imperials…" You mutter loudly. The other passengers of the wagon either shake their heads sadly or chuckle. The driver doesn't think it's so funny.

"Watch your language, Nord." He pauses, "Wouldn't want you to get in trouble." He snorts, thoroughly impressed with his own 'wit'. Fucker.

A Brenton in the wagon turns to you. "So, what did you do to get sent to the gallows, other than be such a charming angel?" She says.

"I royally fucked up a few dozen Imperials from the shallow end of the gene pool, that's what. And then one managed to land a hit to the side of my head. You know what? Just like an Imperial to fight dirty and say we're the bad guys. So yeah, shit's finally hit the high-speed whirling device and I get caught up in the middle of it like a deer in the middle of a pack of retarded rabid wolves."

She doesn't respond to your wonderful analogies. She does smirk though. What's so funny? The fact that you're all about to experience a painful and humiliating execution in front of an entire regiment of Imperial soldiers? Or the fact that everyone else in the wagon is too fucking accepting of their pitiful fates to do anything to try to escape?

Your wonderful mind fails to mention to you that your hands are all cuffed, and any escape attempt is suicide, anyway.

The gates of Helgen loom over you like a snow troll, dangerous, cold, and imposing. If you weren't so stubborn, you would've given up by now. But, luckily, you never quite know when to give up, so the half-baked escape plans are just multiplying in your dizzy head as you head to the square where a large gathering of Imperials is located.

"Off the wagon, everyone. Single file." An officer instructs, pointing to another imperial holding a list of convicts.

Taking names. Waiting in line. God, you fucking hate waiting in lines. Lines are like the shitstain in Skyrim's dirty underwear. Lines can die right along with you.

Wait, no, that's wrong. You're not going to die like cattle at a slaughterhouse. You'd rather die like a mad cow at a slaughterhouse.

…Yeah, okay, so that one wasn't so great. What you meant is that if you're going to go down at all, you're at least going to bring some of these brainless bastards with you. No sense wasting an opportunity to be in an Imperial stronghold without being attacked on sight, right?

"Ralof, Stormcloak soldier?" The list-holding bitch calls.

"Close enough to spit in your face, ma'am." The grizzled man in front of her replies.

"Wonderful. Stand over there and wait patiently. Please." She sneers please, the entire quip dripping with sarcasm and saccharine poison.

The wait gets shorter and shorter.

"Wait… who are you?" She asks, staring at you, a puzzled look on her face.

"The fucking reincarnation of Talos, you piss-swilling imperial bitch." Okay, so you wouldn't usually go as far as to involve Talos, but the dumbass has a list of all the prisoners right in front of her fucking nose. You're last in line. Can't she do the math and figure out your name herself?

She holds back a disgusted snarl, calling over another officer. "Sir… there's no more names on the list. He's not on the list."

"He's obviously rebel trash. Send him to the block with the rest of them."

"Yes sir." She gives you a rough shove towards the raised platform where someone you don't know is about to lose their head. Three, two, one… ew. You hope you don't bleed that much.

You notice as Mrs. Imperial, heiress to the high throne of the Kingdom Of Bitch whispers something to one of her allies, who approaches you cautiously. Grabbing the chain connecting your shackles, he leads you up to the executioner's stand.

Your heart is pounding. Your palms begin to sweat. Your mind goes into overdrive and adrenaline kicks in.

No. No no no this isn't how it works you weren't on the list you weren't on the fucking list you're supposed to go last you need more time to make a better plan you need-

You headbutt the soldier holding the chain. In the face.

He lets go, and your flight for freedom is cut short by two or three much bigger soldiers full-force tackling you. You hear orders from Princess Bitch to let you go, she wants to see your head roll of the block, there's less mess that way.

"Let me GO you fucking DOUCHE GARGLING, TROLL GROPING, DAEDRA M-" Someone puts a hand over your mouth.

You REALLY want to bite him.

Between the three soldiers, and it was three, they managed to get you to rest your head on the block. You sigh, and stop struggling. Maybe they'll let you die in peace, rather than weighed down by the very people you're being killed for fighting against.

Thankfully, they do. You do not look at the ground. You do not pray. You turn your head and stare at the executioner, right in the eye. You glare at him for a long while before the gears in your head start turning again. You have one plan.

One plan left. You have to do _something. _What are you going to do? You're going to bite his fucking ankles, that's what.

And go. You whip your head to the side and clamp your teeth onto his ankle, your swearing and insults muffled into unintelligible growling through the mouthful you're vigorously chewing.

He shouts in pain, but he has enough sense not to swing at you with that huge-fucking-axe while you're clamped to his leg.

Holy shit, this guy has a set of lungs on him, doesn't he? He may just be louder than- ow. That's fire. WHO THE FUCK LIT YOU ON FIRE?

It's only when the executioner is forcibly ripped out of your grasp, and promptly swallowed whole by the gigantic dragon that landed behind you that you discovered 'who the fuck lit you on fire'.

Before you can stare in awe for very long, (another phrase for 'before you can be eaten or burned to death') the Stormcloak soldier named Ralof picks you up by the back of your shirt, placing you on your feet.

You may or may not have missed the "Run for the tower before you get burned, already," and the "Glad your on our side, foul mouth and all," that he shouted to you.

Whatever. You'll just follow him.

Almost falling back down, by the way, you definitely did not trip over your own feet that would be fucking stupid, you run behind Ralof, who hopefully knows the way out of this hellhole.

Escaping the fiery storm of scales and wings outside brings you into the tower next to the inn, where you run up the smoky staircase until you come across a collapsed section and you can continue no further.

"Great. Just fucking great. I'm going to escape losing my head only to be broiled to death in a giant smokehouse. This is absolutely wonderful, I simply cannot express my-"

Your external rant is cut short by the sound of metal on stone and a large cracking noise. The dragon apparently followed you, and wants to join the 'Let's make Karkat's life much shorter and more miserable' party.

The party is members only, and the bouncer turned away Mr. Scaly Ass at the door. He promptly made his own door instead.

You can hear Ralof over the din. Holy shit, is that guy loud.

"Jump! You can get on the roof of the inn from there!"

You stare incredulously at the dragon hovering THREE FUCKING FEET in front of your face before you make a break for the gap between the fire-breathing monster and the wall. Diving through, you just barely make it onto one of the support beams still standing on the inn's roof. It's a miracle that it's still standing, reall-

_CRACK._

Whelp. You really should've seen this coming. You crash heavily to the floor where Ralof meets you, ushering you to the other side of Helgen, where the barracks are located. An Imperial officer runs up to you.

"Kark-" What? He thinks he can use your name?

"Fuck off! I've had enough of you sewer-licking bastards for one day! Seriously, just turn right around and get fu-"

He unlocks the cuffs around your wrists. Oh. Well this is embarrassing.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear any of that, Mr. Vantas." He says with a nudge. "Now follow your comrade into the barracks. There's some supplies in there. Put in a good word with your commanders for a Darkleer Steelsmith, would you?"

"Oh…kay?" For once you're lost for words. Not for long, but by the time you have control over your tongue, he's off and unlocking some other rebel.

Ralof opens the door to one of the only standing buildings, and ushers you in after him. There's a dead Stormcloak soldier on the floor, and there is a brief flash of sadness in Ralof's eyes before he turns to you.

"What are you staring at? Go ahead and take his gear, he doesn't have much use for it anymore."

Reluctantly, you shed the corpse of its armor and weapons, even going as far as to take the gold pieces that were in the pockets. Like the commander said, he doesn't need his stuff anymore.

"You in shock, or something? Get all the supplies you can out of here and let's get going!"

If he wasn't an authority in the Stormcloak army, you would've… bitten him or something by now. Yeah, something like that. Not just anyone can boss you around.

You gather a few healing potions and some cash before picking up the two swords that are sitting on the table next to the only door in the room that doesn't lead outside.

Wiggling the doorknob, you find that it is locked from the other side. Well, life is just taking every opportunity to fuck you with a rusty shovel, now isn't it? Just as you're about to voice your hatred for everything that's ever happened to you, three Imperial soldiers walk through the door, unlocking it and…

"FUCK."

…Hitting you square in the face with it.

Ralof takes the opportunity to dispatch one of the soldiers as you pinch your nose, which has started bleeding. You unsheathe one of your swords and plunge it into the back of the nearest enemy.

The three Imperials are dead before they know what hit them.

Doing a quick check of their belongings, you nab a healing potion before following Ralof through the door and into an Empire-controlled cavern. There are numerous dead Imperial and Stormcloak soldiers alike, meaning you missed one hell of a fight. Well damn.

Once again looting anything important off the unfortunates, you walk past them a few gold coins richer and a few cheese wheels heavier.

Why do people carry cheese wheels with them.

Crossing a drawbridge and into the portion of the cave that the Imperials don't control, you and Ralof are faced with a bigger problem than a few idiotic soldiers. A bluh bluh huge bitch type of problem.

"You know, I fucking hate spiders. I really do. They can suck my di- THAT WAS NOT AN OFFER OH GOD NO."

You stabbed it in the head before it got anywhere near you, but that doesn't change the fact that you _fucking hate spiders._

Brushing the spider webs off you and walking a bit quicker, you come to a wider part of the cave, where a-

Really? Fucking really? A BEAR? You should just let the bear eat you. The day is just going to go downhill from here, anyway.

Well, at least it's asleep.

"Vantas. Take this bow and a few arrows. You can either try sneaking past the bear, or shooting it from here. I don't recommend any close combat unless you're really that eager to give up the life you just managed to save."

You take the hunting bow and notch an arrow. You point it at the bear and-

"SHIT."

-the arrow clatters to the floor as you somehow manage to hit yourself in the face with the bow. Oh, and you seem to have woken the bear, as well. This just is not your day.

"Really, Vantas? If you'd just said you couldn't shoot a bow…" he trails off, drawing his weapon and countering the charging bear.

Fuck no. You made this mess, you're going to clean up this mess yourself. Drawing both swords, you lunge at the bear and score solid hits to its head and chest, ending it as quickly as possible. It has no opportunity to counter. It makes one hell of a mess, too. You wipe the blood off your sword and stare disdainfully at the raw and torn flesh of the bear. You decide not to skin it.

The subtle disapproval in Ralof's eyes turns to awe and respect as you finish the bear off. You'd feel pride if you weren't still so angry with life for fucking you over.

Walking past the corpse, you stumble into the beams of sunlight that tell you you're finally out of that god-forsaken cave, finally out of Imperial territory and maybe even out of danger.

That concept is smashed on the floor with your dreams as a wolf hurls itself at you as its ally lunges for Ralof's throat.

Despite all of the complications, you manage to make it to a small town named Riverwood with your current commander, Ralof.

You are Karkat Vantas, and you fucking hate Dragons, Imperials, Spiders, Bears, and Wolves.


	2. In Which a Fantasy is Proven True

Your name is Tavros Nitram and you are a wood elf inn keeper, or at least you want people to think you are a simple inn keeper. In reality, you are one of the only remaining members of the Blades, a group that is devoted to keeping Skyrim safe from dragons.

Although…you had never actually seen a dragon before….

But you guess that is a good thing, based off what your parents told you when you were younger you wouldn't want to see one anyway. Your parents raised you for the moment you may need to fight off a dragon. Since you were five years old you were taught how to use a bow, and now you could be considered a master archer. You would never tell anyone of your skills though, even if you would make good gold teaching people how to shoot arrows. If anyone knew, it would attract unwanted attention, effectively ruining your inn keeper cover…

…Even if your clothes attract even more attention anyway. You usually wear a bright green shirt with matching pants, along with a green hat with a feather to tie it all together. Most people in the village actually started calling you pupa as a nickname ever since one of the drunk guests told you that you looked like a caterpillar. That could be considered better than what some people say about your clothes.

You like to not think about that.

You decide not to dwell on these things and start attempting to calm the drunken man that is demanding your finest chicken. There isn't much you can do at the moment, since you are completely out of chicken. You consider shooting the one outside that is pecking at the grass when an angry looking

Nord stormed in carrying two dead wolves.

"Uhh, Sir? You can't-" You are about to tell the man that he should not bring two dead wolves into the building when he slaps them down on the table and sends you a glare.

"How much can I get for these?" The Nord growls out and points to the wolves, which the drunken man is now clinging to claiming that they are the largest chickens he has ever seen. You can't decide whether you like or dislike the drunks that frequent your inn.

"Hey! Get the fuck off that and get your own!"

"Sir? you should take those to the trader next store. We, uh, don't really buy dead wolves." You say, but you wonder if the man even heard you since he was currently struggling to get one of the wolves back from the drunken man.

"You know what? Fine! Take the wolves you fuckass! I am _done_!" You start inching towards the metal pan on the counter to use as defense if necessary as the angry man snaps and throws what could only be called a hissy fit. He ranted away as the other man sat on the ground clutching the two dead wolves and nodding as though the rampaging Nord only spoke the truth.

"-do you even know how bad those ankles tasted? DO YOU? Then of course the devines just shit on me and a fucking _dragon_ had to show up! A DRAGON-"

Wait, what?

You are about to ask him to elaborate on that but he simply slaps 10 septims down on that table and walks into room. Meanwhile your mind is spiraling with the phrases 'dragons are real' and 'oh my Talos dragons are real'. Your parents always told you they were real but for all you know they were completely insane and you were a way too gullible child!

So of course you walk into the man's room forgetting to knock with your best serious face (which actually just makes you look constipated). When the Nord sees you he falls off the bed with a quick cry of something along the lines of 'who the fuck-' 


	3. In Which We Meet a Lispy Khajiit

Your name is

_shh_

Sollu-

_SHHHHH_

Well fine.

_Okay you can talk now._

Thanks, _so _nice to know that I need your permission to talk, you know, since I'm the narrator and all. Anyway!

Your name is Sollux Captor, and when it comes to being a thief, you are simply the best there is. As part of the Thieves' Guild in Riften, it's sort of a job requirement, but that's besides the point.

Discreetly walking away from the rich tourists (of whom you just pickpocketed, the cause of all this nonsensical shooshing. Guess what, Sollux? NO ONE ELSE CAN HEAR THE NARRATOR. IT'S JUST YOU.),you slipped the flawless gems they were carrying around into your own pocket. Heading over to one of the city guards, Luka, and putting on your best innocent face, you informed him that the travelers were bandits, buying off anyone who tried to arrest them with the spoils of their thievery.

Despite your lisp and the fact that most people can't take you seriously, Luka performed his job as a brainless servant quite nicely and arrested the two foreigners, finding stolen items in their possession. Oh. You wonder how those got there, eheh.

You're probably wondering how a khajiit has a lisp. Wait, no you're not, I haven't told you that he's a khajiit yet. Man I suck as a narrator. Well, enough breaking the fourth wall, already.

Your name is, again, Sollux Captor. You're a khajiit that moved from Elsweyr, a land of warm sands and few foreigners, to Skyrim, a tundra full of cold snow and colder people. You were part of a project in your village to breed the next generation of stealth warriors, but you came out a little… wrong. With elongated canine teeth and a tongue that's split at the tip, your speech is mangled whenever you try to say an 's'. Your eyes are a little odd, too. Your heterochromatic eyes don't stop their differences at colour, they take it all the way up to eleven and have different pupils, too. Your left eye, which is blue, has a typical cat's-eye slit pupil. The right eye, on the other hand, is red with a round humanoid pupil. The difference in dilation capability makes seeing in the dark give you migraines; only one of your eyes can see clearly. The other one just sees a dark blur and the difference makes you want to split your head in two sometimes. Speaking of migraines, you have voices in your head. I happen to be one of them. Anyway, your soft gray fur has black markings in it, creating some weird pattern on your head and tail. You guess it looks like an elven numeral two, but that'd just be an astounding coincidence.

Trying not to jingle too much as you return to the Ragged Flagon with your newfound treasures, you draw your dagger, enchanted and poisoned to both paralyze and shock the target. The ratway is well named, and before you know it a skeever meets its doom at your blade. Though you prefer to dual wield magic, you're not all that reserved with it and Brynjolf gave you quite a tongue lashing last time you set the drawbridge on fire. That wasn't your fault, though! The stupid bandits or whoever were trying to hide behind it!

Augh, whatever.

Finally arriving at the door to the inn, you press your ear to the thick wood to see who is currently occupying the underground space. Deciding that Vex definitely isn't there, you judge that it's safe to enter and push your way into the Ragged Flagon.

Walking up to Tonilia, you pull the previously pilfered gems from your pockets and show them to the Redguard, letting her appraise them before she decides on a price.

"Tho, howth my favourite fenthe today?" You ask her, prompting a small smile.

"Just fine, now that you've brought in a little more… economic support for the guild. Here's your share." She hands you around eight hundred septims, more than you had expected to get. Maybe she's finally forgiven you for that one time you tried to pickpocket back the red and blue gems you had just sold her. She understood it was compulsion but she kept her eyes peeled around you for quite some time after that…

"You theen Vekth anywhere around here?" You ask, flicking your tail and glancing around.

"Nope, you're th-safe for the time being. I have to leave, have a good night, Sollux."

"Eheheh, you too. Thee you tomorrow if I have anymore goodth." You pipe back, the cash you just received brightening your usually mercurial mood.

You head into the cistern to drop off exactly half your loot in one of the 'guild chests.' Even though anyone is free to tap into your little reserve if they need it, you know they wouldn't. It's 50% pride and 50% fear of you ripping their throats out. While you're in a good mood, everyone is rather safe, but when you turn violent only Brynjolf can effectively stop you.

Speaking of Bryinjolf, you turn to him and spit a little hissing noise, sticking out your split tongue and wiggling your eyebrows. You won't ever let him live down the time he got absolutely smashed on some Firebrand wine and tried to shove his tongue down your throat. Of course, you didn't let him, but you make him _think _you did. He gets all flustered whenever he sees your mutated mouth and it's hilarious because nobody else understands why.

You curl up on the bed your chest of supplies is next to, quite prepared for a quick catnap before you find someone else to rob blind. You were prepared to sleep, that is, before you heard the enormous echoing roar, which must have come from just above you in town.

Leaping to your feet, you followed the other members of the Guild that were currently underground through the secret passage directly into town. Though normally you wouldn't be caught dead using the quick way up and down from the cistern (the guards still thought you were an innocent, after all) this seemed like enough of an emergency to permit a use.

And boy, what an emergency it was.

A massive green-gray reptile was perched atop Maven Blackbriar's mansion, letting loose another earthshaking roar. Despite the fact that it obviously wasn't human and thus probably incapable of speech, the second noise it made sounded suspiciously like 'yol' as fire gushed from its wide open jaws.

You don't care about people. You kill whenever you're needed to with no regrets. But seeing your guildmates, and even some guards that you're vaguely acquainted with put in such real danger by a fucking winged lizard royally pisses you off.

Growling, you begin conjuring a massive lightning bolt, waiting until you can feel arcs of electricity make your fur stand on end before releasing it. It hits its target easily, and with a sickening smell of burning flesh you see the dragon crash to the ground, wings charred and ruined.

It finally notices you, singles you out. As the other townspeople pepper the monster with arrows, it prepares another firestorm, just for you.

'Y-'

It never gets further than the first letter, as you use a strong telekinetic spell to snap its jaws closed, sending acrid smoke and blue-hot flames out of its nostrils.

The creature's eyes roll back in its head, and you cautiously approach, shocking it with a weaker stream of electricity to see if there was any reaction. When you were thoroughly convinced it was dead, you closed the distance between you and the beast. Appreciating it, even broken and battered as it was, wasn't difficult. Its huge head was larger than you were tall, and the fangs that stuck out of its maw could definitely be considered deadly weapons.

Casually cutting loose one of its oversized canines to be fashioned into a dagger later, you notice three small gems tucked under the dragon's tongue. Picking them out and wincing at the bloody drool that soaks your hands, you smile broadly when you see what they are. You've just earned yourself a flawless ruby, sapphire, and diamond. Man, you could definitely go for that catnap now.


End file.
